


The Barry Buxton Report

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, Coma, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Police Procedural, R/NC-17 - Brown Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2019-01-20 17:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Sam makes a mistake.





	The Barry Buxton Report

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

"8-7-0, this is Alpha One. 8-7-0, come in please." Sam reaches for the radio, wondering why Phyllis would contact him this shortly after he had radioed in his hourly report from the stakeout opposite John Norbury's house. "8-7-0 here", he replies. "The Guv needs to speak to you." 3 seconds later, Sam is in no doubt about Gene's mood as a loudly bellowed "Tyler!!" comes over the airwaves. "Where's that bloody report?!" - "Which report, Guv?" Sam manages to press out without yelling at his superior. "The one on that piece of scum we arrested a week before last for that hit-and-run." - "Barry Buxton?" - "That's the one!" - "Should be under B then, Guv." Sam suppresses a smile - filing never was Gene's strength. "Well, it's not!" - "Of course it is!" Sam really doesn't have the nerve to fight Gene over the radio, being undercover or - supposedly - invisible on the lookout for their suspect. Luckily, Chris is just out to get them coffee so he's not a witness to the fight that is about to start between his two superiors.

 

"No, it's not." Stubborn as a mule... "It must be." Where else would it be? "Well, Sherlock, WDC Cartwright looked for it. Ray looked for it. I looked for it. Sid looked for it in the collators' office. It's not there." - "Do you think it might be buried on your desk, under a pile of files you should long have checked and have filed?" - "DI Tyler, now is not the time to question my attitude towards paperwork when it's YOUR report that's missing!!!" Slowly, a strange feeling starts to creep up Sam's neck... "I will come in and find it for you, Guv." - "No, you will not, DI Tyler. You will stay on your post and watch that bloody house as is your duty, Inspector! Whereas I will explain to our highly valued Superintendent that one of my men has lost the report!" - "Rathbone needs the report??" - "Yes, you div, of course he does. Called that he should have received it two days ago. You were supposed to have it sent up to him then. What makes you think I want to read the rubbish you type up??" Sam can hear Gene's sharp-clipped tones and knows he'll be in the doghouse for the night.

 

Concentrating on the job at hand doesn't prove easy - Sam's mind reels as he tries to remember what might have happened to the report. The report that he had written up nice and proper. Or hadn't he? By now he isn't even sure of that. He can't remember actually typing it up if he is honest with himself. But when can he ever? Report blurs into report, and often having to write two or even three versions of one to cover for the others doesn't help. He tries hard to remember whether he had actually typed those words, had actually given the report to Gene to sign and then pass on. He wants to go back and have a look into the filing cabinet, wants to sneak into Gene's office and go through the piles of papers clattered onto his DCI's desk... But now is not the time. Sam is grateful for Chris' presence - it keeps him focussed on what they are supposed to do.

 

Once their shift is over, Sam drops off Chris at the pub and drives on to the station to return the car. It is his day off the next day so he does want to file his notes on the stakeout, and of course take a look around the office to find that stupid report his colleagues haven't been able to produce. He doesn't get far though - when he enters CID, Gene is just about to leave and, grabbing him by the arm, steers him right out again and into the Cortina. Sam's protests don't slow him down in the slightest, and when they arrive at the Railway Arms, Gene makes sure Sam keeps by his side. "You can't stop me from going into CID and looking for that damned report!", Sam protests loudly but Gene just shrugs. "You think anyone's still interested in that?" Sam blinks - how could they not be. "But you said Rathbone..." - "DI Tyler, Superintendent Rathbone has read your report this afternoon and discussed the case with the Crown Prosecutor on the phone as he had intended to afterwards." - "So you found it, the report?" Sam KNEW he had written and filed it. He ALWAYS did. "Nope." They hadn't?? "Looked again, looked everywhere, it wasn't there. All we found were your notes, handwritten. No report." - "So what the heck..." - "Told Annie to type it up, and she did. Flawlessly. I'm sure you've shown her how to do it, on one of your boring dates..." - "I have never..." - "Doesn't matter now, does it? The report was there when it had to be, wasn't it? Now go and buy her a drink for saving your arse once again!" Gene shoves Sam in the general direction of the others and turns to Nelson. "The usual..." he murmurs.

 

Annie isn't there. She isn't at the pub that night, having gone straight home after staying longer than her shift due to having to type up the report in the afternoon and having to explain to SI Rathbone that DI Tyler was on a stakeout and thus hadn't been able to present the Barry Buxton report himself. Ray grins at him, stating that she had had an appointment which she missed due to the missing report. Sam feels uneasy at the thought of having to apologize to her on Monday. Maybe he will ring her tomorrow to explain.

 

But explain what? What could have happened? Gene said they had only found his handwritten notes on the case but no report. He ransacks his brain - when would the report have to have been filed? They had closed the case on Thursday two weeks ago, so naturally he would have written it on Friday. Friday... Friday two weeks ago had been Gene's birthday!! Could he really have been that engrossed in birthday preparations that he would have forgotten to type up the report?? And then not remembered about it on Monday??

 

After two hours at the pub, Sam goes home. Gene is still throwing darts with Ray, who keeps smirking at Sam knowingly. Sam Tyler mucked up. He made a mistake, forgot to file an important document. A mistake relating to paperwork. And everyone knows. He doesn't really fancy staying around to be laughed at any longer, and Gene doesn't seem eager to help him lick his wounds so he'd best be off.

 

He has the Saturday off so he asks Nelson for a bottle of house red to go and makes his way home to his empty flat. He cooks up some food and sits there in front of the television, still wrecking his brains over how he could simply have forgotten to write and file the report. He falls asleep sitting at his little table, his head bowed onto his chest.

 

_"His ammonia level doesn't really tell us much, Mrs Tyler. I think we will have to perform an LP. It is a little risky as we do not know the grade of brain damage he might have suffered from the accident but in order to determine the depth of his coma, we see no alternative here."_

 

He wakes in the middle of the night, not being able to get up properly. He wonders if one's back could fall asleep - he can't stretch it and doesn't seem to feel it that much. Walking proves a little difficult but he manages to reach his cot and falls down on it in his clothes. He feels nauseous but as he has drained the bottle he had brought home with him, he doesn't really wonder about that.

 

_"Poor Sam, being poked with that long needle. Do you think they care about what they're doing to you? Will they ever be able to guess how deep that sleep of yours really is? And will that needle be long enough to reach you, to reach through to where you are?" The little girl in the red dress looks at Sam's slumped form, hugging her clown doll tightly._

 

When he wakes the next day, his head feels like he drank not only one but about all the bottles of red wine Nelson stores in the back of the Railway Arms. The nausea has become worse so his full bladder is not the only physical signal telling him to head to the bathroom. He wonders which spring of his cot it had been this time that has poked into his thigh the whole time he has been asleep as the pins and needles tingle inside his leg.

 

He needs a while to remember the embarrassing events of the day before. He well remembers drinking but has for a prolonged moment blocked out the why. He still isn't sure how it could have happened. Him, forgetting to write a report?? But aah, yes, Gene's birthday. They had been working that day but he had left early to prepare dinner. He had wanted to make something special in honour of the day, had put a lot of thought into where to get all the ingredients needed - he might have put a little too much thought into this and not enough into work that day, he has to admit. Gene had, of course, had to have a drink with the members of CID at the Railway Arms and Sam had joined them before leaving with Gene for a nice candlelight dinner and some even nicer shagging afterwards. He had not only meticulously planned how to spoil Gene culinarily but also in the bedroom, it being the first birthday they celebrated together, and both having the weekend off. Might he really have forgotten his duties over it all?? As much as he would like to deny it, it seems so. Never would he have thought that his brain wasn't able to do both. Multi-tasking - well, as used to it as he had been, it seems that even he had reached his

limits there.

 

He feels the limits of his intellectual capabilities all too much as he hugs the bowl and vomits. He is, still, grateful that he remembers the red wine or he would have thought he was sicking up blood. His head still hurts and he feels dizzy as he finally returns to his cot where he lies back down immediately. Good thing he doesn't have to go to work today. But he had wanted to... to go into the station and check the report Annie had produced. Also he had felt a little insecure the night before - had this report been the only thing he had forgotten? Or were more surprises waiting for him?

 

For the moment, he is satisfied just lying there, controlling his breathing as not to further the nausea which still hasn't stopped, and not having to move his head which throbs like someone applied a vice to it and slowly, ever so slowly increases the pressure.

 

Three hours later he crawls back out. He needs something to cure his massive hangover. Coffee? Coffee sounds about right. He sets to make a big mug and adds an extra spoonful of instant. It tastes like shit but he thinks what little caffeine is in there does the trick - the headache seems to lessen a little.

 

He thinks about going to the station but he knows he will not have a chance to go there unnoticed, especially as Gene is on duty today. He would not welcome him after the events of yesterday, and would only tease him if he went through his notes and reports, looking for any clues of further reasons for embarrassment. So he can only try to reconstruct the day's events from what he remembers.

 

So after drinking a second mug of that awful instant coffee, his recollection starts to somewhat clear. He now remembers putting his notes on the case into his desk on Thursday night, and then getting them out again on Friday. He also remembers that he had taken out some sheets of report paper and that he had put the paper and carbon into the machine in order to start. But obviously he hadn't started... Something or someone must have prevented him from doing so. Later, he remembers, he had taken out the paper again in order to type something else. He had put the paper and his notes into his desk again, being sure that he'd remember to type them up later.

 

The more he remembers, the angrier he gets at himself. He recalls that Gene and he had been called to a crime scene and had been out for hours, and then, when they were back, he had put the new notes onto his desk and gotten out those relating to the Buxton case again. When he checked his watch, however, he realized that he needed to leave now or he would never manage to get all the stuff he still needed to buy and prepare for their dinner in time as he also needed to join CID's celebration of their Guv's birthday in the pub later. He would type up the report in between, or on Monday at the latest... So back they went, the notes, with the report paper and carbon, into the drawer.

 

Sam mentally kicks himself. There is a little nagging voice at the back of his skull (which still pulses heavily), telling him that he had briefly thought of the possibility that he might forget about the notes later, but he had laughed at the possibility. Had been sure that he, Sam Tyler, master of paperwork, would never in a million years forget to write up a report. Also, forewarned is forearmed - he would remember just because thinking he might forget. And worse, he even remembers telling Gene that he need not worry (as if he ever would), he'd have the report ready and waiting for Rathbone sooner than he'd expect.

 

How full of himself he is sometimes... but he already knew that. He knows that he often looks down upon the other members of CID, on their antique methods and their approach to the job, their attitudes and evident lack in self-discipline. How he catches himself often, thinking that he is better than all of them together. That he could master all their tasks alone (which he often does, he has to admit) and still keep cool and in charge, well up on the work that was thrown towards him. Had he adopted some of their slackness? Had he already adapted more to 70s life than he cared to admit? Or has it just been that one day, that one incident, that one reason why his mind had not worked properly that day? Could it be that Gene's birthday had meant more to him than all the paperwork in the world?

 

He smiles at the thought but dismisses it quickly in order to further try and reconstruct what has happened. If he put not only the Buxton notes but also his new notes of the day into that drawer, he might have forgotten to type up that second report as well. No-one had mentioned it so far but he knows that Gene isn't too keen on having to read a further report. Sam doesn't know what has happened to the suspect they had collared that day, whether he has been released or brought before a court. He has no idea when it might be that someone needs to take a look at that report and then find it missing...

 

His head starts spinning again and the nausea returns. He doesn't know whether it is a physical reaction to the panic which wells up inside him or whether the caffeine has stopped working... He is still hung-over, of course, so he creeps back onto his cot and tries to lie still and sleep.

 

He wakes by a pounding noise which, he is surprised to find, doesn't originate from his skull but comes from his door. "Tyler!" Oh, what joy... So someone has missed his second report and sent the Guv to get it. Get him. Pound him into next week for not doing his job. "Tyler! Open the ruddy door!" - "Gene..." - "What's wrong, you've got Cartwright in there to thank her properly?" Annie... He has completely forgotten about calling Annie... "Open it or I'll have to kick it in! Again!" He slowly gets up and opens the door, looking at Gene with bleary eyes. Gene in turn doesn't even look at him but barges into the room, disposing of his camel coat and throwing it over the armchair. He then turns and notices the state Sam is in. "You ill?" - "No. No, it's just... it's just a headache." - "You got something to eat?" Gene ransacks Sam's little kitchen, opening and closing cupboards. Shit... Sam had completely forgotten to eat. "No... I'm not feeling well, Guv." - "Not well? That's the understatement of the century. You look like a dog's vomited on you." - "Thanks, Gene. But I did all the vomiting myself." - "Pretty little hangover, isn't it? You killed that bottle all by yourself?" Gene holds the empty wine bottle up and raises one eyebrow. "Yes, well..." - "Still feeling guilty over not typing up that report then?" Sam stares back at him. "Sam, we all make mistakes. But if the only mistakes you make are not doing your paperwork, I can live with that without even noticing." He smirks at Sam. Of course he wouldn't... "But it's an important part of our job!" Sam cries out. "And it was needed to secure that man's conviction! Rathbone needed it and it wasn't there. I hadn't done my job and it risked this bloke running free! He had hit someone with his car and simply driven on! His victim might never recover! He's in hospital, in a coma!" Sam is in a rage so much that he doesn't almost get what he is saying. It then strikes him. "He's in a coma, and he might never wake up again. No-one knows how deep his injuries are, whether his brain was damaged. If he will ever be the same even IF he wakes up!" Gene stares at him. "So we nicked the bloke who did it to him. We've got a report, we've passed it on, it's up to the judge and jury now. And to the doctors - he's well taken care of, Sam. There's nothing you can do."

 

Sam has calmed down a little. "But..." - "No but there, Sam. We did our job, it's over for us. Nothing you can do." Gene looks at him sternly, and as Sam just stares at him, takes a step towards him. "Sam, look at me." Gene raises his right hand and carefully takes hold of Sam's chin. "Look at me." Sam has been looking everywhere but at Gene but now focuses on his intense green eyes. "You made a minor mistake. It happens. You're human like the rest of us. Nothing happened." Sam audibly gulps and nods, and tries to smile at Gene. "Now, should I get us some fish and chips?" Sam shakes his head. "No, really, I'm fine. I don't think I can eat now. And I'm not hungry, really." - "Not hungry? A skinny bloke like you?" Gene's eyes are like two slits as he squints at Sam. "I'm fine, Gene." Gene has let go of Sam's chin and puts an arm around the smaller man. "You still feeling ill?" - "A little." - "Well, maybe you should go back to bed then." - "I can't sleep now, Gene. I... I'm sure the Buxton report is not the only report I didn't write that day. I think I missed another one." - "Another one? You surprise me, Sammy-boy." Gene looks at him with genuine surprise showing on his features. "Yes, I'm pretty sure. I need to go to the station and check. I'm sure I didn't file it with you, I'm sure I didn't even write it. My notes must have been with those on the Buxton case. Did Annie say anything about another case? Did she find another set of notes?" Gene stares at him. "Sam... Sam, you really don't need to know about that now, do you? It's half 9 in the evening on a Saturday, no-one gives a shit about that report now." - "I have to go in first thing tomorrow morning, and check for that report, Gene." - "The hell you will!" - "Gene, I'm on duty tomorrow. You know I have to go in anyway." Gene looks at him. "Shit, I forgot... I had hoped... well, that we could maybe go to mine tonight, you know, and..." Gene's voice fades, and Sam thinks he notices a little pink creeping into his neck and ears. Sweet.

 

"Sorry, Guv, but I have to get up early. If you managed to better synchronize our shifts..." - "You know that I don't make the schedule, and I can't bloody well ask them to make your and my free days the same days so that we can go shopping together, holding hands!" - "I know, Gene, I know. It's just... I have to work tomorrow and you don't. But I really have to get up, and take care of that report thing." - "The bloody report can wait, Sam. No-one's going to want to read it on a Sunday!" Sam doesn't reply but gets up from his cot again. "I could go to the station now..." - "You will bloody well not!", Gene growls at him. "Don't yell at me!", Sam retorts and puts a hand to his head. "Still that bad? Did you feel the need to freshen up that hang-over of yours today?" - "No, I haven't drunk anything today. Well, coffee..." - "You want another one? Coffee?" - "No, I don't think so, Gene. I think I really will try to sleep it off." If he went to bed early, he could get up early tomorrow and be at work at maybe 7. And start his search for his notes then.

 

"I know a good way to cure a hang-over." Gene who still sits on the edge of Sam's cot pulls at his arm. "Lie down and I'll show you." His look is more than suggestive. "No, really Gene, I don't think..." - "Thinking's not required. And as you proved to us recently, you are very well capable of NOT using that noggin of yours. Just like the rest of us." Sam really doesn't appreciate that last statement - as if he wasn't mad enough at himself yet!

 

"Oh, come on, Sammy-boy." Gene tugs at his arm again. "No, Gene, I don't feel in the mood tonight." - "Just because of that stupid report?" - "No, not just because of that. But do you know what? Do you know why I missed writing that report? It was because of you!" - Gene looks up in surprise. "Of me? Because of me? So now I'm the one to blame?!" He lets go of Sam's arm and stands up straight, towering over Sam. "No, no that's not what I meant!" Sam stares back at him. "It was your birthday." - "My birthday??" - "Yes, your birthday. The day I should have written the report. The reports. It was your birthday and I may have been a little...preoccupied..." Sam casts his eyes down at the floor. He's said it. He's admitted - to Gene! - that his birthday has been more important to him than paperwork. He can see Gene realizing exactly that. And then he comes towards him, puts his arms around him, pulls him close and kisses him gently. "So you've forgotten about your work because of your Guv's birthday?", he finally murmurs into Sam's ear. "Gene..." Sam tries to pull away but Gene holds him firmly. He lets one hand roam over Sam's back while the other is at his neck, keeping him close. His right then wanders to Sam's buttocks, squeezing them, massaging them, and then travels to the front, cupping him gently. "Still feeling ill?", Gene asks. "Well..." is all Sam can manage before Gene kisses him again, deeply. They sink down onto the cot together, Gene sitting on the edge while Sam lies across his lap, as Gene continues stroking his cock through his trousers. He opens the button and pulls down the zip, and then slips his hand into Sam's pants. Sam really tries to focus on the sensation, tries to block any other thoughts, just wants to feel, to entrust himself to Gene's ministrations... but... BUT... he just can't. Gene continues to massage his cock which has filled a little but is still a long way from hard. Sam can feel Gene's erection through his trousers, and yes, he wants to please Gene, to show him how he feels about him, how he makes him feel... But he just can't block all those other thoughts. The thought about going into work in the morning, about the notes, about the reports... About Gene taking the piss out of him, of Ray smirking at him, about the rest of CID talking about it in the pub, knowing that he messed up. About Rathbone - and that is a deflating thought, in every sense of the word - waiting for the report, not having received it in time, calling downstairs to Gene. Did Gene defend him? Did he tell him that the report had been held up? That HE had forgotten to pass it on? Or would he have sacrificed Sam's reputation without even trying in order to protect himself? He gets angry at that thought but can't prevent it.

 

"Gene... Gene, really... I can't. Not tonight.", he gets out around kisses. Gene stares down at him, his hand not moving anymore. "Well, not that I wouldn't have noticed.", he replies grimly. "I thought I might get a typist's cramp before I got you hard, Sam." Sam visibly flinches at the word "typist". "I'm sorry." Sam looks up, trying to look sincere. "It's just, I'm still feeling really bad." - "You do?" Sam nods. "Well, maybe you really better had try and sleep it off then." Gene pulls out his hand and lays it down onto Sam's thigh, rubbing it slightly. Sam gets up and slips out of his corduroy trousers which he hadn't removed since the day before, he realizes. Thank God Gene isn't a girl, he thinks.

 

"So, you think you'll be able to get into work tomorrow?" - "Oh, I'm sure I'll be alright then." - "I'll check on you in the morning." - "No, you really don't have to..." - "Of course I don't have to. I'm your superior and it's MY free day tomorrow. But I will." Sam smiles at him - a ride to the station with Gene would speed up his arrival at CID enormously. "And you'll be alright now? Don't want to find your dead carcass in this ruddy bed of yours tomorrow." - "No, I'll be alright, thanks. Nice to know you care though." Gene thumps him in the arm and goes over to get his coat. "See you in the morning, Tyler." - "Night, Guv." Sam smiles after him as he closes the door.

 

Sam doesn't sleep much though. The thoughts about the missing reports do come back, as does his nausea. Well, the nausea hadn't really stopped. He drinks some water only to sick it up after a short while so he stops drinking. He crawls back into bed and hopes that the night will pass quickly and that he will be fit enough to go to the station the next day to finally, finally check up on his reports and finish the one he was sure he had not written as well. As well as this Thursday's, he realizes.

 

When morning comes, he thinks about sneaking out before Gene arrives to check on him but he finds himself dizzy and weak, still nauseous and retching. When Gene brakes his door down to check on his sick DI, Sam just stares at him and lets himself be lead back to bed without putting up much resistance. "You're not staying here." Gene sounds determined. He fetches Sam's pyjamas from under his bed and tosses them into a plastic bag he retrieves from under the sink, together with a fresh shirt and socks. "You're coming home with me." Sam sighs. "I have to go to the station." - "I'll phone you in sick." - "Err, Gene, maybe it would be better if I did that myself. You know..." - "Good thinking, Sam. Seems that old noggin of yours hasn't stopped working yet." Sam twists his mouth askew and frowns - what he would give for anything to stop making him feel bad about the reports.

 

The reports... he really needs to go to the station! But with Gene insisting that he comes home with him, his chances of sneaking out later are as good as a snowball's in hell. Gene is going to sit on him, literally if he needs to. There is nothing he can do but resign to his fate.

 

When he is all snuggled up to Gene in Gene's big warm bed, a cup of hot cocoa in his hand, having just come out of a hot bath, he feels better. Not only has his headache died down and the nausea stopped but he feels that yes, Gene was right. The reports can wait. It is Sunday after all, and Superintendents don't work Sundays. Neither do prosecutors, judges and juries. So he will just use this day to fully recover from whatever it was that has come over him the last few days, and get his strength back to be at his best when he returns to work tomorrow. And maybe, just maybe he will put that strength to a test later and try and relive some of the good things which had happened on Gene's birthday.


End file.
